Palpitations
by IMTrinity
Summary: One Shot: Severus watches over Harry, one last time


Title: Palpitations

Rated: PG

Warning(s): Character Death

Summary: Severus watches over Harry, one last time.

A/N: This is AU, non-canon, whatever you want to call it. There is a very slight reference to something Snape says in Sorcerer's Stone. Other than that, no other major spoilers. This is purely the work of my morbid imagination. Reviews, as always, are greatly appreciated.

* * *

My eyes have not shut for days. Perhaps I am immune to the necessity of sleep. Or perhaps, I have not deserved the rest. After all, how can one take rest when war is footsteps from the very bed you sleep in?

I cut short the sigh, feeling very inappropriate. I look over to the clock on the wall. But what does time matter? I shift in my chair, wincing at the stiffness. I cannot say how long I have remained thus.

The hospital wing was always a morbid place. Dozens of tiny twin beds with their crisp white sheets all neatly tucked in. All except one. This time, the sigh cannot be contained.

Pristine hardwoods glisten. The elves must have been here. The blood is gone.

Suddenly a click, click of blunt heels can be heard, the noise reverberating in the nearly empty room. I barely turn my head.

"Severus, you need to rest."

She doesn't wait for me to respond, instead approaching the occupied bed. She wrings her hands nervously as she looks down on the unmoving figure.

She lifts back the blanket and lets out the tiniest of gasps. Her hand shakes as she replaces the covering. She allows a moment before doing her duty.

I do not attempt to move as she calmly applies fresh bandages and gauze to the deep wounds. Foolish woman, wasting the supplies.

She stands back after replacing the blanket. Finally she looks at me and I allow the eye contact.

"Is he in pain?"

I swallow before answering.

"I have drugged him as much as I dare. The potions will suffice. If he wakes, he will feel some discomfort."

"If he wakes..."

"Pray that he doesn't."

Poppy frowns at me and suppresses whatever it is she was going to say. I raise my brow in challenge. She pivots on her heels and storms out of the room.

I glance over at the clock. The room is quiet now save for the palpitations coming from the broken body on the bed. The uneven, coarse breathing is louder than  
the battle outside. I look away but the breathing is all I hear.

I don't think it often but I wish Albus were here. He should be the one sitting here now, keeping watch. After all, he loved Potter as a son. Perhaps he could have even conjured a miracle.

Alas, not even Phoenix Tears could piece together this mess. Even I know that. But still, he would have been better suited for this charge than I.

A groan cuts though my thoughts. It sounds inhuman. Oh yes, it is just Potter. I look at the sweat-drenched face contorted in pain. The eyes snap open as if from a nightmare. Bleary green eyes dart wildly back and forth, searching for something. The ragged breathing increases as does the awful wheezing. I jump off my chair to stand over the bed.

"Potter. Potter! Stay still. No- Stay still!"

I allow myself to place my hands on his shoulders, careful not to put too much pressure. He finally finds my eyes and only then does he cease his panic attack.

I let go of his shoulders as he tries to calm his breathing. Realizing the difficulty, his eyes grow frightened once more.

I immediately pick up a tiny phial from the nearby nightstand, uncork it and squeeze two droplets into Potter's mouth. He doesn't hesitate to force his mouth wider though an immediate grimace forms on his face. He instantly appears calmer however.

He looks at me as I sit back in the chair. He opens his mouth, but I cut him off.

"Do not speak. Take my word for it." He frowns but does as I say. He continues to look at me in question. I almost leave to get Poppy but his look plasters me to the chair. My mouth has gone quite dry and I find myself unable to form words.

How does one explain such a situation? My approach was always the bluntest and I saw no reason why this should be any different. And yet it was. But there was really no way around this. I lick my lips and find myself more nervous than I care to admit. Fortunately, my voice does not betray me.

"You are obviously in the Hospital Wing. Hogwarts still stands, though I do not know for how much longer. I- Do you remember what happened?"

Potter gives a wary nod. There comes a point when sleep deprivation eventually catches up with you and you really have no control over anything you do or say. I'm perfectly sure I've reached that point.

"The Dark Lord cursed you, Potter. He has punctured your lung, which is why you can't breath. He managed to hit you with as many as twelve other curses, most unknown to me, which have left you incapacitated to say the least. I have used every resource I could think of to procure a proper potion-"

His eyes bore into mine, practically daring me to say it.

-"However, I was unable to produce anything remotely adequate for your needs. The broken bones, we could fix; everything else..." I drift off, finding speech unnecessary. Potter seems to think so too as he looks away from me and up at the ceiling. Once more, the only sound is his breathing, or I should say, his struggle to breath.

"Am-going...to die?" He continues to stare at the ceiling, unblinking.

"Yes."

A soft cough interrupts our exchange. Poppy has returned, worried eyes fully on Potter.

"Harry, dear boy, you're awake." She approaches the bed and once more pulls back the blanket. She purses her lips and goes to retrieve more bandages.

"Leave it, Poppy." She frowns at me. "Severus, whatever you may think-"

"There's nothing for it. Leave. It."

"Severus Snape, if you think I would let my patient lie unaided, then you are sorely mistaken!"

"Mad'm Pomfrey..T'sok." The effort is remarkable, I must admit. He must be in pure agony by now.

She stares at the figure looking back at her without anger or despair and I think that she would burst into tears this very moment. Instead she looks at me with a ferocity I had never seen before.

"Very well. But be it on your head, Severus!" She storms out of the room without looking back.

"It always is." I murmur back.

I turn back to Potter lying oh-so-still. I can still see the rise and fall of his chest, can hear his gurgled swallowing. I fold my hands in my lap as I stare at the red blood wicking up the starch white bandages, spreading to the seams. I swallow and avert my eyes.

For about the fiftieth time that night, I look at the clock and briefly wonder what Voldemort was doing right now.

"Snape."

I whip my head.

"Do not speak."

Potter shook his head. "S-s-stay?"

I clench my teeth, not even realizing it until I hear a grind.

"I am right here am I not?"

Potter shuts his eyes and nods.

"Do not speak anymore." I warn. No response. Just as well.

I allow my eyes to shut for a moment, but find myself nodding off. My neck is killing me and my back is so stiff I don't think I could even stand up.

Suddenly fearing I was asleep longer than I thought I look at Potter who has his eyes closed. I could tell he wasn't asleep as he darts his tongue out to wet and re-wet his lips numerous times. No nutrient of any kind could be given. He wouldn't even be able to swallow water.

I _nox_ most of the lighting, leaving only a few candles on either side of the bed and a dimmed lantern overhead. I admit the mood is pathetically somber.

Potter opens his bloodshot eyes and cranes his neck slightly to look at me. Even with the dimmed light, he appears deathly pale, his sweat-drenched fringe plastered to his forehead.

Remarkably the only unscathed part of his body is his face. Not a scratch could be seen. In fact, no one would even know he was slowly bleeding to death if they did not look under the covers.

"How lo-ong?"

How long has he been like this or how long until he suffocates from his own blood? I decline to answer and resist the urge to look back to the clock.

I could barely fathom that it was only hours ago that I plucked his lifeless body from what was left of the Hogwarts courtyard.

If Minerva hadn't formed a diversion, Voldemort would have turned Potter's body into potions ingredients. I confess it was a miracle I made it back to the castle unscathed. Minerva must have put up some fight...

"Snape?"

I break my thoughts, glaring at Potter. Even now, it can't be helped.

"Thank y-ou"."

Not what I was expecting. My glare dissolves into pure shock, before quickly being replaced with casual indifference. I nod in acknowledgement because I have nothing to say.

I do not ask what he is thanking me for but I assume it is for the past seven years. Or he could be thanking me for letting him die here and not at the mercy of a psychotic maniac.

I fold my hands together. I am not a restless person normally, but my fingers thread in and out of their own accord.

Potter coughs and droplets of blood appear on his lips. I purse my own and do not even realize that my long neglected finger nails are digging into my palms.

Potter shifts his head back and forth as if searching for a more comfortable angle. Finally he turns back to me.

"Vol-d-mort... Fi-inish it."

I swallow and look him dead in the eye. I give him a firm, quick nod which he acknowledges with a barely there smile before succumbing to another coughing fit. He opens and closes his mouth repeatedly, attempting to swallow as his bloodied chest heaves rapidly. A grotesque gurgling sound fills the room and I realize Potter is slowly drowning in his own fluids. His eyes are like saucers and his hands fist at the sheets uncontrollably. I cannot tear my eyes away yet I do not budge from my chair.

Potter's chest heaves one last time before his eyes roll back and his hands go lax.

The room is suddenly oppressively quiet. Feeling inexplicably chilled, I attempt to steady my shaking hands as I slowly rise from the chair.

My breathing is hitched as I approach the bed to stand over the still figure. With two shaky fingers I place them to Potter's damp neck. I retract them quickly, and immediately look at the clock.

Three forty two. My heart is hammering in my chest. I look down at the assigned savior to the Wizarding World and sigh. Leaning over, I softly shut his eye lids and pull the blanket up to his chin.

I hear Poppy run in a moment later. She puts her hands over her mouth and stifles a sob. I do not look at her as she approaches the bed, smoothing back Potter's hair, fixing the blankets. I hear her sniffle before she turns her attention to me.

"When?"

"Time of death: Three forty two." She nods without looking at me and I sweep from the room.

Down down down to my dungeons I go. I could never stand the smell of the infirmary. I yearn for the familiar aroma of my potions. I enter my lab and slam the door behind me. Slowly, I sink to the floor, suddenly exhausted.

I have lied. I could not stopper death. And tomorrow, the world would know. The Prophesy was wrong. Potter was dead.

I pick myself off the dusty floor. The inexcusable loss of life would not be in vain. And there is no rest for the weary. There is a task to be done.

End.


End file.
